Sunday Bloody Sunday
by Incandescent.mind
Summary: It's the beginning of the war, and Alpha Company has an unexpected find during a raid. This has a lot of cursing, and a bit of racism (staying in character), so if you are sensitive to either of these things, please do not read this. It also may get gory.


**A/N: So, yet another plot bunny that came to me. This shall be a Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Generation Kill (TV show). I wanted to read one but there aren't any so I'm writing one. I have no idea how long this will be. Please leave reviews because I want to know if anyone has any interest in reading this =) Also, this will have cursing, and casual racism because I am trying to stay in character with the guys from GK.**

It was another hot, miserable day in the Iraqi desert. The Godfather had sent Alpha Company on another pointless mission resulting in jack

shit, everyone was pissed off, and there had been several arguments that had nearly ended in fist fights. Overall, Brad Colbert was not satisfied with the days'

efforts, and he knew it was just going to get worse with the way The Godfather was chasing medals. It didn't help that Encino Man was a fucking moron.

"Brad! LTs want ya!" Ray's shout managed to drag his mind back into focus. One slow blink later, and he was ready to see what command had in store for them

next.

"Alright, we have new orders for tonight." Nick announced to the gathered soldiers. "At oh-two hundred we will move out, and will assault thisvillage three

hundred klicks south of our location just before dawn." The map was vaugue but that was nothing new for the Recon Force Marines. They'd had worse. At least

this one had a name or two on it. Nick's face, serious as it always was, became grim. "Our objective is toeliminate all hostile forces with exception to this man,"

here he passed around a photo of a man who had a neatly trimmed beard, dark, intense eyes, and a nasty scar that ran the length of the right side of his face,

curving to nearly bisect his upper lip. He looked like he could, and would, gut a person in a particularly viscous manner.

"If we cannot find him, we are to detain others so that we can send them to Command for questioning. Is this clear?" At their nods of affirmation, the Lt.

stopped them before they could disburse. "We're doing this as silently, and as quickly as possible. No shock, and awe tonight, we have to do this under the

radar if we want to get out without any casualties. This group is known to be particularly brutal, so we all need to be clear headed. Get some sleep, we leave

in six hours. Dismissed."

"Well, tonight is going to be fun." Brad said, cool, and calm as ever. He slowly walked back to Bravo Company's Humvee where he could hear

Ray bitching a mile a minute, "Fuck man! Out here all we see are camels, hajis, and sand. Fuck! When are we gunna see some action?! Well, aside from

Trombley shooting some fuckin' camels? Jesus, The Godfather has us on some shit missions, we need action!

"Well, Ray, you're going to get your wish. Tonight we head out on assault two hundred klicks of here. Get some sleep, we're Oscar Mike in six hours." Brad

looked around, spotting the third and fourth members of his company, "Walt, Trombley, that goes for the both of you too, we

need to be sharp."

. . . hey, think I'll get to shoot someone? I really want to shoot someone . . ."

Trombley, you dumb shit, we're assaulting a fucking village! You're gunna shoot something, maybe you'll get to kill another camel."

"Fuck you, Ray." Trombley's response was uninspired, as usual.

And, as usual, Ray couldn't, or wouldn't, let it go, "No man, I know what you do to those camels. That's some sick shit, camel fucker."

Trombley was looking like he was going to take a swing any second, but he was saved the effort when the Iceman stepped in with authority, "Gentlemen, is

that any way to behave?" Not so gentle humor could be heard in his words. "Ray, say you're sorry to Trombley. You know he's sensative about his girls." Cool

blue eyes mocked both men, causing them to turn away from one another in disgust. "Keep calm, get some sleep." With that last directive, The Iceman melted

away, leaving Brad to take his normal seat in the Humvee to try, and take his own advice

GK - BtVS - GK- BtVS - GK- BtVS - GK- BtVS - GK- BtVS - GK-

Five and a half hours later, Brad woke to the sound of the comm telling all the LTs to gather once more. "We head out in 30 minutes, and I want everyone alert,

and ready for anything. We're walking into a potential shit storm. I want every man to come out in one piece tonight, so we do this right." He paused to look at

the faces surrounding him, looking as grave as ever. Though Nick wasn't an old man, the lines of stress were clearly defined, and seemed to be getting deeper

every day. "Dismissed." Captain America was shouting his usual paranoid babble, and his team looked as though all they wanted was for the man to encounter

some very unfriendly fire during the assault. Though his face was stoic, Brad felt for them. He may have Trombley, a trigger-happy idiot, in his team but at least

the moron wasn't the one in charge of keeping anyone alive; they wouldn't have lasted a day. At the Humvee, Ray, Walt, and Trombley were all loitering around

the front of the vehicle exchanging their usual banter, meaning Ray was off on some RippedFuel powered tangent, throwing out casual insults towards his

audience, and Trombley didn't understand half of it while Walt looked on in amusement. His men had their . . . quirks but he would trust any of them at his back

in a fight. "We're Oscar Mike. Load up gentlemen." Ray's whoop of excitement was echoed throughout the companies.


End file.
